


Book of Matches

by FrankiesLilKilljoy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29697972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankiesLilKilljoy/pseuds/FrankiesLilKilljoy
Summary: Together Frank and I discover ourselves. I’ve never really considered him anything other than my best friend and constant annoyance. Yet, something happened over our summer break before senior year, something I couldn’t explain or even admit to myself for a while. I began to nurse an unhealthy crush on my best friend.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

I hated him before I even fully knew him. I’m pretty sure that’s not entirely fair, but it’s the truth. I’m not even positive why I hated him. I guess then; I just hated boys in general. Being only six, I held an adamant belief that all boys had cooties and, if they really did exist, this boy was the cootie king.

I was born in Belleville, New Jersey, a shitty town with a high crime rate and no good ice cream shop. For a while, I lived there in a small townhouse with my parents. My father is an Italian from New Jersey, my mother a Russian immigrant with large, dough eyes and an oversized upper lip. My parents divorced when I was six years old because my dad ran off with his sleazy boss. My mom, although she had no idea how to bring up a child, kept me. When I turned eight, my Aunt Donna and two cousins moved in to help raise me.

The bottom floor of our small house had three rooms. The living room is in the back, the dining room in the middle, and the kitchen in the front. The upstairs has four rooms. Two bedrooms are in the front, one for me and one for Gerard and Mikey, another bedroom for Aunt Donna and mom, and a single bathroom that all five of us have to share. We have no front yard, and the backyard is small. Despite that, Gerard, Mikey, and I always managed to find some kind of weird game to play in it during the daylight hours. The alley separates my house from the one directly beside it. The boy lives in the house across the alley; our backyards face each other.

My bedroom is in the front of the house, my window facing the house beside mine. It is right above the kitchen’s back door. If I climb out the window, I can jump down onto the trashcans conveniently placed beneath my window. The only problem is that it took me several years to figure this little trick out.

The boy was sick a lot when we were younger. We didn’t see each other often. Sometimes on random days, we’d both happen to be playing in our backyards at the same time. He’d always throw rocks at me, finding some sick fun in it. I had a strange fascination with pirates back then, so when I’d spot him, I’d shout, “ _Halt fiend_!” This only encourages him to continue throwing rocks - larger this time.

I’ve always hated Jersey…it just doesn’t smell right. Three days after my tenth birthday, I decided I didn’t want to live at home anymore. I wanted to go live with Peter Pan in Neverland. Growing up was overrated and stupid. That very day I’d put on a green shirt belonging to Mikey, green socks, my brown flats, and a silly hat I’d made out of green construction paper. I had a plastic dagger, Gerard’s, shoved in one of my socks. I was Peter Pan, or, in this case, Amber Pan.

I remember the boy was playing in his backyard that day. His hair is dark, and he is small, looking at me with wide, bloodshot hazel eyes as I stand on the edge of the roof, preparing to fly away. My cousin, Mikey, is in our yard below me, yelling at me to get down, or he’d tell his mom. The boy across the alley stands by his fence, watching me.

“What are you doing?” he shouts, sounding very far away from where I stand.

“Going to Neverland,” I shout back. He only nods slightly, mouth half-open in curious wonderment.

“Jump!” he finally says.

“Mom,” Mikey calls.

I hear her reply inside.

“Amber is jumping off the roof!” Mikey’s brother and my oldest cousin, Gerard, flies out of the back door to look. I hear Aunt Donna and my mother rushing up the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Gerard asks me calmly.

“Going to Neverland,” I reply.

The corners of his mouth turn up into a sly smile. Gerard has always encouraged my imagination, even if it is sometimes dangerous. The boy on the other side of the alley seems more interested in the fall than the flight. He stands, waiting anxiously for me to make a move.

“Jump! Jump! Jump!” he shouts at me.

I hear my Aunt Donna burst through the bedroom door, and I realize I only have a moment before she rips me back inside. So I do what the boy says. I close my eyes and step over the edge of the rusting gutter. For a few glorious seconds, I really am positive I can fly. Then gravity gets hold of me, and I hit the ground below. Ten stitches and an arm cast later, I’d learned to hate Frank Iero.

The next year Frank is in the same class as me. At school, we pick on each other to no end. He’d kick dirt at me, and I’d pull his hair or spit in his face or kick him. Sometimes we’d even punch each other. In some ways, I think it’s kind of funny because even though Frank and I claimed to hate each other, there was definitely some affection behind all the beating. Frank slowly became protective of me, yelling and throwing random objects at anyone who tried to bully me. Eventually, the affections would grow into something more, but neither of us knew this at eleven. As we grew up, Frank became less of an enemy and more of a best friend.

Over the years, Frank and I start doing everything together. We still claim to hate each other, and the two of us still fight constantly. Thank goodness I am a tough kid; I don’t remember a day of school that I didn’t come home with a black eye or busted lip; of course, none of these were from Frank. I just fight a lot, much to my mother’s dismay.

When middle school rolls around, Frank and I stop beating up on each other and act more like friends. We walk to school together. We listen to the same music. He helps me clean up my bloodied lip after I’d get in a fight with the school bully.

In school, I act out…a lot. I can’t remember a week that went by that I didn’t end up in the principal’s office. I’d start fights, graffiti lockers, skip class, and talk back to teachers. I was just a bad kid. In truth, I was trying to find myself. I didn’t want to be anyone I wasn’t. I dye my blonde hair black; I wear dark, ripped-up clothes and white face chalk. For some odd reason, I thought I was supposed to be a vampire. 

Throughout high school, Frank and I remain friends. He is the one who convinced me that my hair looks better blonde and that I don’t have to be anyone I’m not. In high school, I finally figured out that I like my odd clothes and punk music. Together Frank and I discover ourselves. I’ve never really considered him anything other than my best friend and constant annoyance. Yet, something happened over our summer break before senior year, something I couldn’t explain or even admit to myself for a while. I began to nurse an unhealthy crush on my best friend.


	2. Zombie Sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of self-harm

She stands on the window ledge, thumb pushed against a clear pin so hard the nail has gone white. Just as I’m beginning to think the walls in Amber’s bedroom can’t hold another poster, frame, or scrap of paper, she goes and finds the one blank spot left. I stand by her desk, watching as she struggles to get the bright yellow ‘Zombie Xing’ sign hung just how she wants. Her knees wobble, feet unsteady on the mattress.

She’s spent ages putting up and taking down every piece of art on the walls, rearranging them anytime she gets something new. Amber’s room is like a museum created by a hoarder. If someone wanted to figure her out on a surface level all they would need to do is take a look in her room. Everything Amber loves and cares about is on these four walls. Drawn in by my best friend’s determination, I lose my balance. Reaching out for the desk, I manage to knock over one of the snow globes I gifted her, catching it just before it hits the wooden floor.

Amber turns in time to see me righting the globe, trying to play it off as if nothing has happened. Through the seemingly annoyed frown she’s giving me, I can see Amber fighting back a smile. She struggles with this for a second, probably deciding if she should be mad at me for being late or just happy I’m here. I teeter back and forth from foot to foot hoping she goes for option number two. I could’ve called, let her know my mom added onto the list of usual afternoon chores. I didn’t think vacuuming the floors would turn into an hour-long ordeal. As I continue to chew at my bottom lip, the smile takes over, Amber’s eyes lighting up. She only smiles like this around me. 

“How are you doing, Amber?” I question, still fidgeting with the snow globe as I try and get it back exactly the way Amber had it.

Eventually, I give up, stepping over a pile of clothes to get to her bed, which is pushed up against the wall, right under the window. She once told me she did it this way so she could look at the stars. I used to joke around and say that she just liked to watch me get undressed but stopped after Amber threatened to throw a paperweight at me if I ever brought it up again. The last comment I made on the issue was about violence not being the answer. I’ve known Amber long enough to know she doesn’t make idle threats. It was safer for me to just drop the joke.

“Better than a few minutes ago,” Amber answers, moving to sit next to me.

I take my best friend’s arm, tracing the tiny pink marks that crisscross her skin. It kills me that she does this to herself. I wish I could stop her, somehow take that pain away. She’s tried to stop, thrown everything away, taken up snapping pencils or something else, but Amber always goes back. She once told me she does it in response to situations she can’t control; the pain pulls her brain back into the current situation. I dust my fingers over the newest ones, crusted over with flakes of dry blood. I gave up trying to rationalize it in my own mind years ago, none of my explanations matching up with Amber’s reasons.

“Why didn’t you come over?” I wonder aloud, kissing over Amber’s pale arm, taking away the bad memory and replacing it with a good one. I’ve done this since the first day I found out about the self-harm. It’s all I can do. The visits to the therapist, the twenty-four-hour watch…none of it helps. At least this way she doesn’t have to hold onto the painful memory. Her skin is warm and soft against my lips.

“You didn’t answer on the walkie, I thought you weren’t home,” Amber mumbles, avoiding my gaze.

I hate that she’s in so much pain. She has been doing well, smiling more, going out, and laughing. A pit grows in my stomach, heart aching as I think about all the reasons why she might have fallen back down the hole. She doesn’t deserve this.

“That’s silly, where else would I be on a Thursday afternoon but at home?” I question, trying to keep the frustration out of my words. She knows I was home; the car is in the driveway.

“With your girlfriend…what’s her name, Devil?” Amber retorts, nose crinkling up as she uses the nickname her cousins and her came up with for my current girlfriend. My best friend thinks she’s a real bitch.

“ _Devlin_ , and no, I wasn’t with her,” I reply.

I met Devlin at a party. Amber was sick but insisted I go anyway. Never in a million years did I think someone like her would talk to someone like me. She’s tall and tan and her legs go on for miles. Her smile drew me in, the way she talks with her hands and laughs at all my stupid jokes. We spent all night at that party sitting on the couch, talking.

We started dating a week later. I learned everything about Devlin on the first night. She’s nothing more than surface level, but we don’t fight, and she still laughs at all my jokes. At this point, we’re dating for the convenience of not going through a breakup. I don’t love her like I thought I did. She’s a warm body in bed next to me on the weekend, someone to fill the empty hours between the time I can see the person I really love. The girl I love doesn’t love me back, at least not the way I want her. Devlin uses me as part of her teenage rebellion and in return I use her.

“I don’t really care what her name is,” Amber responds, pulling me out of my head as she gets off the bed. She fidgets with a few things on her desk, hands shaking as she does. I hear her breath catch and know she’s trying to hold back tears.

“Amber, please don’t cry,” I whisper, reaching out for her. Amber can try and hide it, but I always know when she’s upset and hurting. I wish she’d stop trying to push me away and just let me help her.

“I’m not crying,” she mumbles, her lie not convincing at all.

“Yes, you have been and I know the perfect thing to cheer you up,” I say, getting up and wrapping my arms around her.

Amber rests her head on my shoulder. I don’t try and get her to turn around. Despite wishing she’d let me be there for her, I know pushing Amber won’t get me anywhere. Even after all these years, she thinks openly crying in front of me shows she’s weak.

“There’s a party tonight at Jonny’s house. How about you sneak out of the house and we’ll go together. Don’t worry, Mikey’s already going and we all know Gerard has never cared.”

Amber sighs, wiping her eyes one more time before she turns to look at me. I give her a hopeful smile. The only way to shake whatever is going on with her right now is to get her out of the house. If Amber sits and stews in her sadness it’ll only get worse. “Fine, I’ll meet you in the alley around ten okay?”

I kiss my best friend’s forehead, letting my lips lingering a little longer than usual. Amber needs to know she’s loved. Our closeness has pulled her back from the darkness in the past. I hold onto hope that it’ll work this time as well.

“I’ll see you then. You gonna bring the ass you’re dating along?” I question.

Garry McCormick is the scum of the earth. He could give a shit about Amber, the bruises making that evident to everyone but Amber. She’s got a soft spot for the assholes, thinking she can somehow change them. Garry has been a point of contention between us since the day she started dating him.

“You gonna bring the Devil?” My best friend retorts, a sly smile creeping over her face, letting me know this is all just a big game the both of us enjoy playing.

“Yeah, she’ll be there,” I answer, wishing I could have given her a different answer. If Devlin is coming, I know she’ll bring Garry.

“Then yes, _Garry_ will be there,” Amber responds before going back to hanging up her sign.


	3. Getting Out

My bedroom window creaks as I force it open. For some reason, it enjoys sticking when the weather warms up and then gets cold again. I wince and turn around to listen, hoping no one heard. After a few minutes, I sigh, glad the hallway light has not flicked on. The house is silent except for the music that floats from Gerard and Mikey’s room. I take that as a good sign. One of them is still at home, and if they heard me, the music would have gone off. I’m okay for the time being. Sticking my Converse-clad foot out the window, I curl my fingers around the shingled rooftop.

For almost five years after the Neverland incident, the window was bared so that it could be opened, but I couldn’t get out. Finally, both Aunt Donna and my mother decided I wouldn’t be jumping off the roof anymore, and they removed the bars. Oh, how wrong they were. I’m sure if they knew I snuck out of this window every other night, they’d bar it up again, this time for good. I don’t know if I’d be able to stand that.

I pull the rest of my body through the opening and slide the window back down as quietly as I possibly can, hoping not to alert my aunt or mother. I don’t waste much time after that. Crouching down, I tiptoe to the edge of the roof, looking over the gutter at the yard. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to jump from here as a little kid. I could have died.

The yard below me is empty and quiet. Not even alley cats risk coming out tonight. I sit down and scoot to the edge of the roof, where I hang my feet over, sliding myself down until I am hanging on by nothing but my hands. Finally, I let go and drop to the ground. I hit the soft earth and begin to lose my balance. Before I fall completely on my butt, I feel strong, warm arms wrap around my body. I can smell him immediately, like Irish Spring shower gel and cigarettes.

“Amber Pan at it again,” he whispers in my ear. His breath is warm against my cheek, his lips so very soft. I smile as the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Can’t make me grow up,” I explain with a giggle.

Frank chuckles lightly and lets me go. I turn around to face my best friend. We smile at each other for a moment. Today he is wearing those worn-out Converse he refuses to retire, ripped jeans that we both attacked with a Sharpie last June, his Misfits shirt, and a black hoodie. Frank has his hands shoved in the pockets, a finger sticking out of the hole he accidentally made with a pencil. At the moment, his hair is black and long. He needs a haircut, but no matter how many times I tell him, he doesn’t listen. Frank’s hair does look soft, though, like he just got done washing it, falling in front of his left eye, curling up slightly at the ends. He’s smiling just like normal. I don’t think there has ever been a time that I haven’t seen Frank smiling.

“C’mon,” my brain snaps back to reality at the word.

Frank intertwines his fingers with mine, his hand warm from being shoved in his pocket. We tiptoe to the end of the street, hoping none of the neighbors are looking out their windows as we sneak by. The two of us have only ever been caught once, and the punishment was brutal. It’s better if we never get commandeered again. Now clear of the houses, we dash down the alley, our hands held tightly together.

Once we reach the end of the road, we stop under a street lamp so I can catch my breath. Dropping Frank’s hand, I lean over, grasping my knees, breathing rather hard. I’ve got pretty bad asthma, which tends to act up at the worst of times.

“Okay,” I say once I’ve managed to get my breathing to a respectable pace. “Where exactly is this party?”

“You okay?” Frank questions, being the gentleman he always is.

“I’m perfect.”

Frank goes to offer me his hand at the same moment Garry walks around the corner, a big drunken smile covering his scruffy face. Frank shoves his hands deep inside his jacket pockets, suddenly finding the cracks that crisscross the sidewalk very fascinating. Garry trudges over to me, wrapping his arm around my waist. I hate this.

“Like I told you earlier, we’re gonna head over to Jonny’s. I heard he managed to get a keg off of some college kid. I figured a little drinking would cheer you up,” Frank says, answering my previous question.

“Yes!” I reply enthusiastically before Garry pulls me tighter to him, almost making me trip. Frank sighs heavily, kicking a rock. He doesn’t like Garry very much.

“Devlin is gonna meet us there.”

I cringe internally, a frown appearing on my face. Devlin McCormick is the worst example of a female I’ve ever come across. Well, personality-wise, that is. Physically speaking, she is perfect. The beach blonde wears tight clothes that show off her long tan legs, nice butt, and big boobs. I envy her, mainly her boobs…guys love boobs, and I’ve got none. I wear a size 34A, freshman bra size. Devlin, or Devil as I like to call her, has boobs. Her eyes are another thing I envy; they’re light and blue like crystal clear water. She also has those big, full lips like the models on TV. Sometimes I even catch myself wondering what it would be like to kiss them.

Frank fell for Devlin. Physically Devlin and Frank are perfect for each other…they’re both gorgeous. Then again, Frank possesses one trait that makes him a million times more attractive than his slutty girlfriend, and that is a heart.

Devlin McCormick is a royal bitch. Yet, for some odd reason, still unknown to me, Frank fell for her. Maybe she is charming and sweet around him, but she hates me. Frank and I spend countless hours arguing over his girlfriend and her personality. Frank continues to be convinced that Devlin was sent from heaven to give him a reason to live no matter what I say. Their ‘love’ makes me want to gag. I might not know much, but I do know that Devlin is not from heaven. She’s from hell sent to Earth because even the devil couldn’t stand her.

“Cool, I’m assuming you two will spend the majority of your time shoving your tongues down each other's throats,” I reply, not really caring if Frank says anything else on the topic or not. I’d prefer not to hear about how wonderful Devlin is for the duration of our walk.

I know Frank enjoys his time with Devlin, just like tons of other boys do. I’m actually surprised Frank and Devlin’s relationship has gone on for this long. Normally the girl has a new guy every week. I just hope she doesn’t cheat on him. My biggest fear is that she’ll break his heart and, even though he annoys me more than anyone else, I really do love Frank Iero.

“Maybe,” he confirms, “but I’ll still walk you home.”

We continue on, Garry trying to get his hands down my pants and into my shirt, laying wet, sloppy kisses over every little bit of my exposed skin. Although Garry sometimes gets drunk and tries to get in my pants or hits me, I care for him. Garry can be charming, going out of his way to make me feel special. I just wish the raging alcohol problem he has didn’t get in the way of that gentle persona so often. 

Frank dislikes Garry. I dislike Devlin. We’re even.

“Have fun, please,” Frank whispers in my ear as we near our friend Jonny’s house, “and try to get away from Garry.”

“What the hell are you mumbling to my girlfriend, shrimp?” Garry demands, pulling me away from Frank; Garry doesn’t just dislike Frank…he hates him.

A few people are sitting on the front steps smoking or drinking. Frank’s eyes are drawn to something. Following his gaze, I notice Devlin sitting with some friends. She smiles and waves at Frank, completely ignoring Garry and I. Being used to this, I simply kiss Frank on the cheek, something Garry disapproves of, and head up the steps towards the front door. I know where I’m not wanted.

“See you later,” Devlin says dismissively, waggling her freshly manicured fingers at me.

I roll my eyes. My distaste for the blonde spills into the hate territory more and more each time I see her, “Yeah, can’t wait.”

Frank frowns at my sarcasm. Shrugging, I link elbows with Garry, heading into Jonny’s house, trying to push my idiot friend and his terribly annoying object of affection from my mind.


End file.
